


With Time and Luck

by emily_420



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M, manga spoilers for the end of the shogun assassination arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily_420/pseuds/emily_420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takasugi wakes up. It does not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Time and Luck

**Author's Note:**

> i really should not have written this but here we are

There was some sort of commotion in the adjacent rooms, Kamui could hear, but he didn't move from where he stood at the window, looking out at an unfamiliar nebula. They were probably playing jenga again or something, and that didn't hold more than a passing interest for him. But then, nothing much did.

Someone banged the door open; in the patchy, dim reflection of the window Kamui saw that it was someone from his squad. “Captain!” they said urgently, and almost as if to a group of people and not just Kamui alone, “Takasugi woke up! Everyone's–”

Kamui didn't need to hear more than that, strode past him and out into the hall – half the Kiheitai must have been in that one hallway, bustling toward their leader. It was a good show of how charismatic a leader Takasugi was, that they were all so devoted. Kamui's squad would probably chuck him off if they thought they could, but he chalked that up to the Yato nature, dismissed anything it might say about him as a person.

The little space outside Takasugi's ward was packed, everyone jostling and stretching and craning their necks, trying to see if he was okay, if he was still the same, if he could still lead. Kamui brushed past Matako in the doorway, where she was anxiously gripping the door frame, stopped at the end of Takasugi's bed to take him in. He was sitting, barely, his one eye squinting in the clinically bright fluorescent light. His hair looked greasy, flattened to his head, and he seemed a bit thinner. Sad, really.

“Where am I?” came his voice, weak and cracking and dry and weighed down by exhaustion.

“One of the medical rooms,” Bansai said, the picture of calm. “Do you not remember?”

“I remember...” He trailed off, looking at everyone in the room in turn, as if trying to get some sort of hint from them. “...War. And – sensei–”

“Past that,” Bansai said, patient. “That was a long time ago.”

Takasugi shook his head; Kamui rounded the bed and assumed a half-crouch beside it, pointed to himself, said, “What about me, Shinsuke?”

Takasugi shook his head again. “Name...?”

“Kamui.”

Takasugi shook his head again. Kamui straightened, struck out, but Bansai caught his wrist before his fist could impact. Kamui gave him a look.

“He's recovering,” Bansai said plainly but with the implication that he thought Kamui was being ridiculous.

Kamui narrowed his eyes and shook off Bansai's grasp. “Usually if you hit things they go back to normal, right?” he said, light tone at odds with the snowstorm of feelings swirling in him, none of them particularly good.

“I'm not a famicon,” Takasugi said. Kamui cut his gaze back to him; he was looking at them oddly, as if they were the ones who suddenly lost years of memories and started referencing outdated technology.

“Famicons are old, Shinsuke-dono,” Takechi said, hands tucked into his sleeves, either uncaring or good at handling himself. “It's all about NexBoxes and OoWees now.”

For a long moment, Takasugi stared blankly at Takechi, probably wondering if he should dignify that with an answer. In the end he just blinked, looked away, kicked his covers off and tried to get up but got held back by his IV. From the doorway, Matako said, “I don't think you should get up, Shinsuke-sama... You still need rest.”

“M'fine,” Takasugi grunted, pulled the IV out of the crook of his elbow like they tell you not to. He meandered, unsteady on his feet as you might expect from someone who hasn't stood up in over a month, to the door, and Kamui, feeling morbid, followed him slowly, flashed Matako a look of something close to understanding as he passed her.

The Kiheitai and Kamui's squad alike watched them pass, too nervous to make a move, the air thick with tension and too warm from everyone packing together. When they were past the crowd, Takasugi ran a hand along the wall as he walked, refamiliarising himself, or at least attempting to. He stopped at the window by the foot of a central staircase.

“Space,” he said, hollow. “Why? Did you kidnap me?” He didn't seem like he'd much care even if they had.

“No.” Kamui kept quiet; he wanted Takasugi to quickly return to himself and felt that being overly loud would disrupt the process. “You brought us all together.”

Takasugi spun to face him, too quickly because he had to put a hand to the wall to steady himself, said, astounded, “And went into _space_? That's – what–” He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, hand flitting to the other one, fingertips touching it gingerly. He pulled his hand away, stared at it like he expected to see blood, wiped it on his gown anyway. Takasugi was in such a pathetic state that it was costing Kamui something to watch him.

He looked back up at Kamui. “You were going to hit me.”

“Yes.”

“I just woke up. Pretty rude.”

“All we do is fight,” Kamui said. “I thought it might jog something.”

Takasugi scrutinised him for a long moment, apparently didn't find anything and looked away again. “Who are you?”

“Kamui. I already told you.”

Takasugi shook his head impatiently. “No, to me, who are you?”

He didn't have an answer for that so he said, half-kidding, “Kamui, probably.”

Takasugi's nostrils flared. “Do I put up with you, usually?”

He hummed, said, “Kind of. Not really.”

Takasugi laughed, a little hysterical. “Now there's one thing that _does_ make fucking sense.”

He pushed past Kamui, and something between them broke.

 

Broken things can be mended, but it's a process.

 


End file.
